Orange Blossoms
by Sotakura
Summary: Kageyama's been finding it hard to focus on ... well, anything and frankly, he blames everything on that stupid orange hair and its accompanying brilliant smile.


Lately, Kageyama's found himself … drifting. His concentration levels have been sliding and it's growing worse day by day; focus falling quickly from whatever tasks he's _supposed_ to be doing, as if his mind is simply floating along as free as a cloud. But there's something that anchors him, something that always, _always_ manages to be an easy latch for his wandering gaze.

It doesn't exactly surprise him at first. _Honestly,_ it would be hard _not_ to be drawn in by that unruly mop of orange hair that bounded through the halls every day. And, then of course the grin that was near constantly tugging at the corners of the mouth that _accompanied_ that garish hairdo was bright – blindingly so, in fact, if you stared at it long enough. Yes, it was certainly hard for Hinata _not_ to catch someone's attention, with that unexplainable warmth and happiness that radiated from his everything. Like he was some kind of miniature sun that roamed amongst them all. Shining. _Brilliant._

No, it wasn't his consistent, unavoidable staring at his classmate – his _teammate –_ that surprised Kageyama. It was the _feelings_ that came hand in hand with the whole … staring. It was the strange tightening in his chest that clutched at him whenever he saw Hinata laughing, loud and unabashed, with his head thrown back at something Tanaka or Nishinoya had said to him. It was the lump that gathered in his throat and made it difficult for him to swallow, when Hinata was wiping the sweat from his brow after practice, his eyes still fierce with determination – with concentration, before they would eventually fade back to their usual softness. It was irrational – what could he call it? - protectiveness that sparked in his mind at the little wobble his lower lip would make when he was being scolded in class.

Then there was the itch that crawled up his spine, the tingle that made his fingers twitch when Hinata smiled at _him,_ Kageyama, with too many teeth and squinted eyes and all Kageyama wanted to do was _touch._ Tug him forward, wrap him up in his arms and feel that warmth right up against his body, sinking right into his skin without the space between them to dilute it.

Kageyama wanted – _god,_ he didn't know what else he wanted. Everything, maybe.

Wanted to know what Hinata's hair smelled like if he buried his nose right at the root – he'd always guessed oranges, just because of the colour, but he'd love to know for sure.

Wanted to know if Hinata's hands felt as tiny clasped between his own fingers as they looked from afar.

Whenever they had all shuffled into the changing room after practices, Kageyama's mind grew … bolder, more vivid. Hinata would strip off his sweat soaked t-shirt and Kageyama would never, _never_ have the will to not look at him. Didn't even care when he was so completely hypnotized by the sight before him if the others were watching how he stared at the bright boy, eyes trailing along the lines of his hips and the curve of his spine. He'd just try and swallow thickly around his dry throat as his took in the ripple of Hinata's shoulders, the sheen of sweat the slicked every inch of his skin.

These moments were always filled with these quick flashes of _fantasies_ that ensnared every facet of Kageyama's mind. He'd wonder how Hinata's throat would taste on his tongue – how _all_ of him would taste. Would Hinata flush red with heat and embarrassment and tell Kageyama he was sweaty and try feebly to push him away, even as the black haired boy persisted, relishing in the saltiness mixed with the sweetness of Hinata's flesh just because it was _him_ and it was _his_ taste, pure, untainted. Would Hinata bruise easily? When, after savouring, Kageyama pulled away from that delicious neck, would he be blooming in violent and beautiful splotches of purples and reds?

What sounds would Hinata make – if any at all – if Kageyama held him close, touched him, _took him_ right there against the cool metal of the lockers? Would his sighs be long and breathy, pleading and so impossibly enticing? Or would Hinata be loud and almost aggressive – a thought Kageyama most ashamedly loved to indulge in more than any other – screaming over the harsh clang of his body pounding against the lockers for more _Kageyama please, please more, harder, harder-_

 _Fuck._ Kageyama all but slammed his locker door shut after he'd somehow managed to change his clothes, even through the fog of his secret lust. The sound made even himself jump. He hoped beyond hope he wasn't the colour of a ripe tomato and hoped and _prayed_ even harder that his pants wouldn't need any obvious adjustments. He turned very slowly to meet the slightly alarmed gaze of the stupid cause of all his inner dilemmas who was, thankfully, now standing fully-clothed.

Kageyama's eyes were unsurprisingly drawn to Hinata's lips then, as they quirked slightly into a tiny smile. Kageyama wondered about them too. About what _they_ tasted like. Did lips even taste like anything? Would they be soft? They looked like they would be, soft and warm and – really, there was no way kissing Hinata could be any less than that, because Hinata _was_ sunshine and happiness given a body and Kagayama wholly believed that he'd bestow perfect kisses as a result.

If he really had to decide, his favourite fantasy conjured up by his over active mind would without a doubt be those that involved kissing Hinata. Like right now, with the boy looking up at him, curiosity in his wide eyes, maybe even a little trepidation – it was easy to imagine reaching out to grasp his chin, tilt his face upwards and push forward, sealing his lips over Hinata's. And, _god,_ they really would be perfect, lips a little chapped maybe but pliant, yielding under Kageyama's. Kageyama would slick the tip of his tongue out of his mouth and along Hinata's lower lip, teasing it and he really was sweet and fruity too – tasting like the orange juice he was gulping down earlier, taste still lingering on his lips. Kageyama could feel the enraptured moan rumbling at the back of his throat as clearly as if his fantasy were real-

It was Hinata's little squeak and the influx of heat underneath his fingertips – not to mention the very slow bubbling of poorly contained sniggers behind him – that made Kageyama realise he'd just made a very grave mistake, indeed. He didn't open his eyes right away but instead slowly leaned back until he was standing at full height again and his hand had fallen from Hinata's chin. He tried to swallow again, uselessly, before he dared to open his eyes. His movements were verging on the ridiculous side of slow, but maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that slowing down would _prevent._ It didn't, however.

Kageyama doesn't recall ever seeing someone blush that particular shade of crimson before, it was startling really, especially against that silly orange hair that he would now forever blame for all of his problems. But he felt better now, knowing that it smelled faintly of vanilla bean and even better still with the taste of Hinata's lips on his own – which he swiftly and none too subtly licked, just to savour. Despite the sniggers of his teammates that had now grow into some full blown bouts of laughter, Kageyama found it hard to focus on anything but the shy smile that was growing on Hinata's face.

And he stared then too as that shining smile grew brighter still, this time though, promising to _never_ look away.


End file.
